Sweet As Lemon Sherbets
by OTPhilia
Summary: Her lips tasted like the lemon sherbets she was fond of. The sour and sweetness collided on his tongue, it tasted nice. Too nice. It didn't last long, for he knew he was impatient, and he found himself yearning for the deliciousness of her lips once more. Warning: The aftermath of Frances' death.


She really is delicate. He should've known. From the very beginning, Frank had told him that. Fragile. It seems it didn't go straight into his brain. Her eyes spoke of such volume that he underestimated her dainty, precious heart. She was always so brave. He weakly chuckled as he remembered standing outside of her house, hearing her verbally fight her mum for him. She'd incessantly fought for him— even their marriage, she'd fought so hard to make it last, to make it worthwhile... She was always more of a man than him.

He knew it in his numbing heart that Frances made his life wonderful. That all those money and guns couldn't ever make him happy like she did. Her soft brown loving eyes are his redemption for a better future where white picket fences are pleasant and little reggies and frances' running on their house are wonderful. And Frances would make a lovely mother.

 _ **Sweet Frances.** _

She was so sweet, like lemon sherbets.

He tasted her sweetness and after it's gone— his mouth became rotten. He was too neglectful, too selfish for feeding himself to notice the saccharine had all but gone away. He crushed that lemon sherbet like he crushed her heart.

Frances was right. He was being impatient. He was egomaniacal. Too power-hungry to keep her. Of course, he had changed, even for a tiny bit, but a change all the same. It seems it wasn't enough to keep her alive.

 _ **Delicate Frances**._

How could he be so daft? It's been there from the start—the warning, the precaution of her mental health. It seems Ronnie wasn't only the one fighting his demons. Frances knew how to keep them from Reggie. He should've known all along; the sleeping pills, the bags under her eyes, her soft pleading voice.

She wanted normalcy, he promised her an empire. Frances begged for his time and devotion, and he rewarded her with nothing but pain.

Although she was patient with him, with his family, especially his brother.

And how did he reward her undying love?

 _No, Reggie, please no!_

He didn't know what happened to him that day. What made him do it. But all he knew he had hurt Frances in the most disgusting of ways. He was supposed to protect her from harm— Reggie was taught not to disrespect and manhandle women, and yet he's the one who defiled her and brutally touched her face he adored so much. She, his very own wife, Frances Shea. The most horrifying moment was waking up still dazed and confused; a throbbing head and a sore knuckle, flashing memory of that rainy afternoon, and a letter beside on his bed. It slammed him like a ton of bricks and even more painful than a boxer's fist.

Could she ever forgive him?

 _Stop it!_

He shut his eyes and he could see the bruises on her pretty face. He could still her screams despite of the silence, the pain in his heart would linger, always. He was going mad.

All those memories of her kept haunting him. Tormenting him and saving him from shooting himself with a gun. Her lips would kiss him in his dream, but her lips would be the same dead shade, and her eyes, god, her eyes were more lifeless. There's not day would pass that his regret is eating his whole existence —until he was but a miserable man.

 _ **Beautiful Frances**._

She was always so beautiful.

Bouquets can't bring her back, that much is true, for if they could—she would have come back sooner. She wasn't belonged below ground; she deserves grand palaces and mansions. She deserved the sun brightly shining on her face, and the moon lighting her beautiful whisky-eyes. Not a coffin in the abyss of a ground, not the earthworms lingering about, and not death rotting her youth and glory, especially not death.

Maybe if he came sooner he would've stopped her. Maybe even change her mind. Maybe if he had changed sooner he could've saved the both of them. But this is reality and the present as much he hates it; He cannot bring his darling wife back. Everything reminded of her so much that her death is because of him. It was all because of him; his negligence, the lack of empathy, the abuse and his mistreatment of her. Reggie blamed power and his hunger for money in the course of the first week of her death. But in truth, it was him, and he knew it. It was all him. He had killed the person he loved most in the world.

 ** _Lovable Frances._**

But Frances was a murderer too. The day he looked at her beautiful sleeping corpse, is the day she killed him. She took a vow, for better or for worse that she would never leave. Frances should have waited a bit more. He had apologized, he waited for her, he had promised to change for real, and this time she will never suffer. She should have waited for the tickets to Ibiza.

She crushed his heart too. All her expectations were painfully high, her look of disappointment when he hadn't let his twin brother go to jail, her arguments—it was all he couldn't bear. He can't change all at once. He was meant to be a King of everything, and she his Queen, a promise of ruling London together.

But Frances was six feet in the ground, in a coffin, in a dark place that doesn't suit her beautiful face and body. She didn't belonged there, and yet she's there—without the sun to set on her face, without the air of both summer and winter.

She's ruling a kingdom of the dead, and soon, he'll come to her kingdom and he'll beg for her mercy, give him damnation if it's the cost for her love once more. Tell her the things he hadn't said. The words he was scared to say.

I love you...I'm sorry.

 ** _Soon, my lovely Frances._**


End file.
